


but our lives move along

by fiercynn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bechdel Test Pass, Character of Color, F/F, Fate, Fate Averted, Female Character of Color, First Time, Minor Character Death, OT4 Friendship, Reincarnation, Romance, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiercynn/pseuds/fiercynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>modern AU/reincarnation fic. <i>These days, Morgana dreams of the past.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	but our lives move along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woldy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/gifts).



> So I wrote this whole fic, 90% of which is about Morgana's Deep Dark Feelings, and only then realized that Vienna Teng had basically already done that with her song "Between", where the title is from. Ah well. Written for the [femslash10](http://femslash10.dreamwidth.org/) ficathon.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas [Scribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/) and [slylilgoblin](http://slylilgoblin.livejournal.com/)!

Morgana has never dreamed about the first time they met, past or present.

In the present, it's just after Morgana's parents are killed in a car accident and Uther takes her to London to live with him and a three-year-old Arthur. Morgana herself has been shocked into silence by the accident and the whirlwind of change that has become her life, memories of the crash mingling with her nightmares until she is unable to separate dreams from reality. She hasn't spoken a word since the day of her parents' funeral, and none of Uther's attempts to draw her out are working.

He's explaining all this to the teacher in Morgana's new kindergarten class, and Morgana is trying not to notice all of the children staring at her. After more hushed conversation between the adults and a lot of fervent nodding on the teacher's part, she turns back to Morgana and smiles warmly before directing her to sit in the circle area next to a girl with the curliest brown hair Morgana has ever seen. She's staring at Morgana too, and even though it's a friendly look Morgana ducks her head to keep from meeting her gaze.

"I like your hair," the girl whispers admiringly. "It's shiny."

Morgana is so surprised that she almost smiles, feeling her mouth quirk up just the tiniest bit before she manages to clamp down on it. The girl looks encouraged, smiling herself. "What's your name?" she says. When Morgana says nothing, she prompts, "I'm Gwen. I'm four. How old are you?"

Somehow, she seems to understand that Morgana has no desire to speak, but doesn't take it as a rejection. "It's alright, you can show me. Look!" She holds up her hand, fingers splayed out, counting them off one by one. "Five! Your turn."

Because Morgana has never dreamt of this, she doesn't yet know that Gwen will appoint herself Morgana's translator for the next few weeks and will do an incredible job of interpreting what she wishes she could say, to not only their teacher but to Uther when he comes to pick Morgana up. She doesn't know that when she does begin to speak again, the first words will be to Gwen, and they will be "Thank you" – for passing her a crayon, ostensibly, but also for so much more than that.

But regardless of what comes after that, when Morgana finally holds up four fingers of her own, that – _that_ is when they become best friends.

*

At nine years old, Arthur Pendragon is exactly the kind of annoying adopted-brother that no one in their right mind would want.

_"Morgana!"_ he yells, banging on her bedroom door. "Wake up!"

Morgana stumbles out of bed and yanks the door open, scowling ferociously. Arthur, unlike most children, is an incurable morning person, eyes bright and blond hair all aglow in the sunlight in a way that shouldn't quite be possible, though he's frowning as well. "It's too early," Morgana growls, aware that her own hair must be sticking out in every direction and not caring a bit. "School doesn't start for an hour and a _half_."

"Yes, but we have to walk, and you take ages to get ready," Arthur says, stubborn.

"I do not!" Morgana protests. "And you just want to get there early so you can play footie with your idiotic little friends."

Arthur doesn't deny that, just smirks a little and says, "Well, you're up now!" before running downstairs.

Morgana slams her door shut and purposefully takes at least ten minutes longer than she needs to, but by the time she's ready her anger has faded. She and Arthur are always this way – even before Uther took her in and began the long process of adoption, she and Arthur had known each other practically since birth. By now the annoyances and the bickering have become just another part of the Pendragon household, and although Morgana would never admit it aloud, she likes the comfort of routine and familiarity. Besides, it will be nice to have a little extra time to talk to Gwen before their class begins.

They meet up with Gwen just as she's leaving her house and calling goodbye to her parents. "Morning!" she says cheerfully, joining them. Morgana's never quite decided if Gwen is a morning person or if she is just willing to be cheerful at any time of the day. Either way, she and Arthur make a right pair with their energy and chatter.

And _that_ thought puts Morgana back into her bad mood, keeping her silent until they're nearly at the schoolyard.

Gwen bumps her shoulder. "You alright? Didn't sleep well?"

"Weird dreams," Morgana responds. Which is true.

"Were we in them?" Gwen says eagerly. A few months after Morgana's parents died, her vivid nightmares about the crash shifted into dreams that were no less realistic, but fortunately were not scenes from her real life at all, and they have continued ever since. Nowadays, they are almost always about her friends and new family, usually in some kind of medieval setting. Sometimes there are other people as well, particularly an older man with white hair and a friendly worn face, as well as a dark-haired skinny boy who pops up so often that Morgana feels like she's beginning to know him. It's all in good fun, and everyone seems to find her dreams amusing, even Uther.

Morgana doesn't tell them about the bad dreams – the ones that make her wake up gasping and sweating in the middle of the night, the ones with dragons, and monsters, and people being burned alive.

"Yes," she replies, and hesitates for a moment before deciding that the prospect of Arthur's reaction is worth it despite her own feelings about the dream. "Arthur, you were the king –"

"Yes!" says Arthur triumphantly.

"– and I was the princess, your sister, and –" She pauses dramatically, savoring the moment, "– you and Gwen were going to get _married."_

Gwen says, _"What?"_ just as Arthur cries, "Ugh!" their faces almost identically appalled.

"Not that there's anything wrong with you, Arthur," Gwen adds hurriedly, diplomatic as always. "And I'm sure someone will want to marry you someday – er, I mean –"

"I'm never going to get married," Arthur announces with complete certainty. "Not even to Gwen."

Gwen, fortunately, looks utterly relieved at this.

They watch as Arthur runs off to join his friends, and Morgana – well, Morgana feels inexplicably better. She links arms with Gwen and smiles at her. "Well? How was your week-end with your aunt?"

"Oh, it was lovely!" Gwen gushes, and there's no way that Morgana can feel gloomy right now.

*

Gwen's dad is diagnosed with leukemia when they are thirteen.

When Uther first tells them, a tiny voice in the back of Morgana's head protests, "That's not how it happened!" But the thought disappears too quickly for her to even examine it, and then all her mind is telling her is to go and _find Gwen._ Uther has to catch her in his arms to keep her from sprinting over to Gwen's house and barging in on her family right there and then. She kicks and screams like a little girl until Uther and Arthur manage to calm her down, but she can't sleep at all that night, tossing and turning from worry.

Gwen doesn't show up to walk to school the next day, and Morgana and Arthur don't quite dare to knock. But in the afternoon, Morgana sends Arthur ahead and mounts the doorstep, clutching the work she's brought for Gwen as if she needs the excuse.

It's Gwen who opens the door. She tries to smile but her eyes are red and exhausted, and her expression is bleaker than Morgana's ever seen it.

"Oh, Gwen," says Morgana, shocked, dropping the books in her impulse to rush forward and hug her.

Morgana's not very used to physical comfort – she barely remembers her parents holding her, and Uther takes the idea of fatherhood at an arm's length to new levels. But she knows she's done the right thing when Gwen clings to her immediately and bursts into tears, wrenching sobs that wet Morgana's jumper and chill her heart. Oh, she can guess how it's been for the past day: Gwen trying so hard to stay brave for her mum and dad that she wouldn't let herself cry, keeping everything tucked away until she could let it out to someone who wouldn't be hurt.

They end up perched awkwardly on the stoop, Gwen's head tucked in the curve of Morgana's neck as she shivers, and Morgana strokes her back as soothingly as she knows how.

After a long, long time, Gwen sits back and wipes her eyes. "Thank you," she whispers. "You didn't need to –"

"Of course I did," Morgana says fiercely, tightening her grip around Gwen.

"No, I meant – you've gone through so much worse, losing both your parents," Gwen says softly. "I don't deserve to be this upset, next to that."

The thought had honestly never occurred to Morgana. She's not even sure she has it worse; she has so few memories of her family as a whole. And while Uther is hardly the ideal parent – even as children she and Arthur know that – she's always felt cared for. With that, it's hard to miss something she didn't even remember having. And the fact that Gwen should see that as a reason to hold herself back –

"That's – that's not even – _Gwen_," says Morgana helplessly, and has to hug her again to keep herself from crying.

Over the next few months Morgana comes to realize what she has always known somewhere in the back of her mind: that Gwen is the strongest person she has ever met. It's in everything she does, the way she takes care of both her parents and tries to pretend nothing is wrong for them, for everyone except herself. But except for putting on the courageous façade, Morgana knows that no one is taking care of Gwen, and she appoints herself to the task, devoting herself to finding a few moments of peace and happiness for Gwen whenever she can take them.

When Gwen's father passes away, it is the worst day of Gwen and even Morgana's life in spite of – or perhaps because of – its inevitability. And watching Gwen finally break down after he's gone, letting out the grief of all these months and all the months to come, Morgana knows that despite her youth and the prospect of her whole life stretching out ahead of her – despite that, she knows, with a certainty that seems like a stalwart tower among the mercurial winds of pre-adolescence, that she would give her life just to make Gwen happy.

For some time after Morgana worries that Gwen won't recover from this. But of course, Gwen is resilient as always, for her mum if not for herself. Still, Morgana tries to help. She wants to always help, and the first time Gwen laughs unreservedly feels the start of a new day.

*

Merlin enters their lives the next year, and everything Morgana has ever believed comes crashing down around her.

She hears about him before meeting him – Arthur comes home one day whinging about the new boy in ninth who was all that anyone could talk about _and_ dared to challenge Arthur for being rude after accidentally bumping into him. A week later, Merlin is all that _Arthur_ can talk about, though Morgana's pretty sure he'd die before letting Merlin know that. By the time Arthur brings him home after school one day, Morgana not only pities the boy, but feels as if she knows him already.

The irony hits her at the same time as the recognition, when he walks in, a dark-headed shadow already seeming to be attached to Arthur.

Morgana gapes openly at them, her head reeling, and Arthur gives her a quizzical look. "Are you alright?"

"What?" says Morgana faintly.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "_This_ is my sister Morgana," he tells Merlin. "Adopted sister. Thank god we don't actually share any genes."

"Hi," says Merlin with a little wave, almost apologetic.

Morgana tries to regain her composure through the easiest way she knows: getting back at Arthur. "Oh!" she says, giving a mock-gasp. "Is this the famous Merlin? I've heard so much about you!"

"Famous?" says Merlin, a dubious smile growing on his face. "All bad things, I imagine?"

"Not so many as you'd think," Morgana says sweetly.

Arthur glares ferociously at her. "Stop bothering him, Morgana," he says, grabbing Merlin's elbow and tugging him away. "Come on, _Merlin_, I know you want to see the house."

"I do?" says Merlin.

_"Yes."_

"It was nice meeting you!" Merlin calls as he's been dragged away, and Morgana smiles to herself briefly before the epiphany sinks in again.

The thing is – she doesn't understand what it means right away. All she knows is that Merlin is, without a doubt, the boy from her dreams, though Morgana is just as certain that she's never met him in all her fourteen years.

She spends the next few weeks in a constant haze, unable to sleep for fear of having to confront the impossible, but not knowing how to face the real world where she is the only one who sees these things.

What's most astonishing is that the world doesn't end. Merlin becomes something of a permanent fixture in the Pendragon household, constantly following Arthur everywhere – mostly to argue with him, it seems, or to be an amused spectator to the frequent familial bickering. He and Gwen meet and from the very beginning they get along famously, though in a way that can't make even Morgana and Arthur jealous, and the four of them take to spending their time all together more often than not.

It should be perfect, this. But Morgana feels more alone than she ever has in her life.

She probably would have continued like that, sinking inside herself until she became crazy. But one day, Merlin and Morgana are lazing together on the grass at the park near the Pendragon household, after Morgana dared Arthur that he couldn't do a cart-wheel and Gwen gamely agreed to teach him. They're watching as Arthur tumbles to the ground over and over, which is not only hilarious but eerily familiar, and Merlin doesn't take his eyes off of him as he says, unexpectedly, "How much do you remember?"

Every nerve in Morgana's body sparks alight, her blood thrumming, feeling terrified but _alive_ for the first time in ages.

"Not much," she manages to say, her voice quivering only a little. "Just – snatches, really. Glimpses of everyday life."

Merlin just nods, and Morgana bites her lip as she watches his profile, unwilling to let this go so quickly. "Do you dream too?" she asks softly.

Merlin looks at her for the first time, his eyes so serious that Morgana knows, finally _knows_, that this is all real. "No, that was always your thing," he says. "I just…know things. Not all together-like, but I remember randomly. It used to be quite a shock every time it happened, but I'm getting used to it." He grins at her. "I remember more than you, I think. I bet I know more about your life than you do."

Morgana tries not to contemplate how unsettling that is. "And them?" she says, jerking her head towards the odd sight of Gwen trying to explain the idea behind hand-hand-foot-foot to her completely bemused brother. "Will they remember anything?"

Merlin's face turns grave again, and it's strange to see such an expression on the face of such a young boy, whose voice hasn't broken yet and who will more likely be facing daily battles against the mighty forces of acne than the monsters and sorcerers Morgana's seen him fight in her dreams.

"No," he says simply. "Not unless we tell them."

His smile is sad, and Morgana can feel her heart sinking again as she looks back over at Gwen erupting into peals of laughter, ringlets framed against the sunlight, eyes bright and lovely. It still feels like an unthinkable burden; there are innumerable uncertainties and impossibilities, the prospect of the curse of prophecy, _everything._

But she's no longer alone.

*

"That," Gwen pronounces, "was really quite awful."

"Absolute shite," Morgana agrees.

They're curled up on the couch, the credits of _Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion_ still rolling on the screen, a long-abandoned bowl of popcorn at their feet. It's a Friday night, and Morgana knows that most sixteen-year-olds would be out trying to sneak into pubs or parties, but she's perfectly content – more than content – to sit here and watch terrible movies as long as she's with Gwen.

"Although we should try going around and telling people we invented something," says Gwen. "Not Post-Its. Mothballs, maybe?"

"Garden gnomes," Morgana suggests, and Gwen laughs. Morgana grins and snuggles down until she's half-lying on the couch, still watching the television idly, her head pillowed in Gwen's lap. She glares at the screen again. "Plus, after all that, the strange sexual tension threesome dance and everything, Romy and Michelle didn't even get together!" she complains. "I think the movie would have been drastically improved with some lesbian snogging."

Gwen doesn't say anything, and after a moment Morgana twists to look up at her. She has a thoughtful look on her face, her eyes intent on Morgana's face. "What?" says Morgana, a little unnerved.

"Nothing," says Gwen, shaking her head, and then contradicts that entirely by leaning down and kissing Morgana.

For a moment, for a one blissful moment, Morgana forgets about everything else in the world except for the feel of Gwen's lips on hers and Gwen's hair brushing the tip of her nose. She brings a hand up to cup Gwen's cheek, and Gwen makes a tiny, involuntary sound before slipping her tongue into Morgana's mouth.

And then suddenly an image of grown-up Gwen and Arthur flashes into Morgana's brain, both of them dressed regally with shining gold circlets atop their heads, Gwen's hand resting lightly on Arthur's arm and smiling up at him. It's so abrupt and so vivid that Morgana's entire body tenses.

Gwen pulls away, confusion written on her face, and Morgana sits up hurriedly, breathing hard. Gwen looks aghast. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking –"

"No," Morgana tries, "no, Gwen –"

"We can forget this ever happened, yeah? It's just that you said that thing – and you looked so – and I've wanted – but I mean, it was my mistake –"

_"Gwen,"_ says Morgana, a little desperate. "It's not that, I've wanted it too –"

Gwen clamps her mouth shut at that, staring wide-eyed, and Morgana wants more than anything to kiss her again. But how can she? And how can she explain that there's no way they can be together because her dreams told her that Gwen is destined to fall in love with her brother?

Maybe she could just pretend for a while, let herself have this for as long as it lasts – but the knowledge of what's to come is so ingrained in her mind that she'd never even let herself think about this as a possibility. It was always there in the back of her mind, her feelings for Gwen gilding every aspect of their relationship, but she'd never admitted the blunt truth to herself.

Somehow, the realization that she is and always has been (for _centuries,_ perhaps) desperately in love with Gwen feels like another blow entirely – another reminder of what she can't have.

"I _can't,_" she says miserably. "I wish I could, but –"

And as usual Gwen doesn't ask for any kind of explanation, just takes Morgana's incoherent half-sentences at face value. "Alright," she says quietly, looking down at her hands, and takes in a deep breath. "I suppose I should go home –"

"No!" Morgana says, grabbing her wrist. Gwen flinches at the contact and Morgana lets go immediately, swallowing hard. "You can't leave," Morgana says, and tries for a smile. "We can't end the night with such an awful movie, can we? We need some kind of palate cleanser. Maybe James Bond."

Gwen looks uncertain still and Morgana pleads, softly, "Stay."

Finally Gwen nods and attempts a smile of her own. Her voice shakes only a little as she says, "_Dr. No,_ or _From Russia With Love_?"

They don't speak of it again. Sometimes Morgana searches for a hint of something in Gwen's expression or tone, and sometimes she thinks she finds what she wants to see. But it's hard to say. After all, Gwen has always been good at putting up a front.

*

Morgana wants so very much to hate Lancelot – after all, if she can't have Gwen, it had bloody well be Arthur – but try as she might, it's impossible. Not only is he too sweet and earnest for her to think any malicious thoughts about him, but he and Gwen are the kind of cute-but-not-disgusting, charming couple that just seem so settled and so happy to be around each other that it's infectious. And there's no way Morgana can hate that. Oh, she can certainly feel jealous, wishing it was her that could make Gwen's eyes shine like that – thinking that maybe she could, for a time, if she were to try. But she can't, and Lancelot can, and that's what matters.

He doesn't start appearing her dreams until he and Gwen have been dating for three months in their final year and even Arthur's taken a liking to him. It makes Morgana feel a little better, to know that he's supposed to be with them.

They date for the rest of school, through O Levels and A Levels and various social crises, but they have to break up when school ends and Lance leaves for officer training with the RAF. Gwen cries when he leaves and she and Morgana do quite a bit of ice-cream-and-movie-night therapy, but by the time they start uni she seems completely fine.

Only then do Morgana's dreams show her the tragedy of Gwen and Lance's love last time – how they betrayed Arthur together.

Once she gets past the initial shock, she wonders at that, why that hasn't happened in some form. Merlin just shrugs and says, "You were the seer," when Morgana asks him, and she resolves to be wary of Lancelot ever entering their lives again.

*

Cambridge is four years of a different world entirely. It's so strange to not be surrounded by the subjects of her dreams, her past, and yet to keep dreaming. Sometimes, when she misses being around Gwen so much, or talking with Merlin, or even, though she would never admit it, her _brother_, the dreams feel more like memories than they ever had before – her own memories, that is, of times that they spent together, joking and confiding and being the four of them.

She's writing Philosophy and in her second year she ends up taking a class on Free Will that she'd tried her hardest to stay out of. But after getting her first dose of Hume's notion of compatibilism and attempting to reconcile free will and determinism, she calls Merlin with some of the questions that she's never dared to ask before.

"Why are we here?" she says bluntly, not caring that it is the stereotypical query for anyone in an existential crisis because, well. That's what she's _having_.

Merlin pauses and Morgana can picture him biting his lip in worry. "I don't know," he admits.

"Have we done this before? I mean, is this the first time we've been reborn?"

"I don't know," Merlin repeats. "I don't remember anything except our original lives and now." He sighs. "Morgana, what is this about?"

It shouldn't have to be about anything in particular – they are reasonable questions, ones that they should have been discussing throughout their childhood, but somehow they had made some kind of silent, tacit pact not to do so. And now that Morgana is breaking that, she knows Merlin can read her well enough to be concerned.

"How much of our pasts are we destined to repeat?" she says, the words tripping over each other after being held in so long. It's a question that's been implied in so many of their conversations, but never stated outright, and they both know it.

"Morgana –" Merlin says haltingly.

"You don't know."

"Of course I don't know. But – I'm beginning to think I don't believe entirely believe in destiny." He laughs a little. "Ironic, isn't it?"

It's…not at all the answer Morgana expected, if she had expected everything. _"What?"_

"Morgana," Merlin says again, and she can tell even before he says it that he's about to let out his own closely guarded question, "what do you remember about the old Uther?"

"I –" Morgana is more than a little startled. "Not very much, I suppose. He's there sometimes in dreams about my childhood, being aloof and coldly paternal as always, but not much more than that. Why?"

And then Merlin tells her. Tells her about the tragedy that defined Uther's life back then, the same one that does today, and the way that he reacted, which is so utterly different and horrific that it takes Morgana's breath away.

Oh, there were hints; she had dreamt of fire and fear too often to be completely at ease with the way that life went in their past. But she had not truly known what it all meant.

She tries to imagine the Uther she knows, the man she considers her father, in a position of such power that he could give in to the desperate, irrational whims of his grief to – _commit genocide_, apparently. She knows all too well the traits he retains that could have taken him to that brink: his stubborn self-righteousness, his quick temper, his unwavering love and loyalty to a woman he will never see again. If her Uther had experienced Igraine's death while seated on an almighty throne with the obedience of a kingdom at his disposal, it is possible that he might have done the same.

"How can you stand to look at him?" she chokes out.

"Because he hasn't done it this time," Merlin insists. "And from what I know of Uther – what _you_ know of Uther – I don't think he ever would."

And. It hurts, it feels like the worst betrayal despite the fact that it has less to do with the Uther she knows and more to do with her convictions about their fate, but – Morgana still isn't sure.

A year later, when she first dreams of Uther ordering an execution and sees how he watches it with calm vengeance, it's less of shock than it should be.

*

She and Gwen both date in uni, relationships that are sometimes serious and sometimes not, but Morgana finds it's easier to know about Gwen's romances when she's not there to witness them directly. And in a strange way, being apart seems to repair something of their friendship – not that there was anything directly wrong with it, but it's easier to be candid and open from afar, in an email or a phone call where she doesn't see Gwen's face that might make her too afraid to speak.

She comes close to telling Gwen about the dreams sometimes. Many times. More times than she can count.

When they both graduate and move back to London for their first jobs, Gwen asks if she'd like to share a flat, and Morgana has to bite her tongue from saying yes right away.

There are so many reasons why it is a bad idea: she dreads the idea of seeing who Gwen brings home at night, of being able to experience what it might be like to live happily with Gwen while not quite reaching it. But most of all, she cannot let Gwen hear her crying out when she wakes up from nightmares, because in the dark of the night it would be all too easy to let the secrets slip.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she tells Gwen, and it seems there's a bit of a shadowed, hurt look on Gwen's face for a moment, but it vanishes so quickly that Morgana's not entirely sure it was ever there. "I – promised Uther I'd move back home for at least a bit. Arthur's still in school and even when he does get out I doubt he'll do it."

Gwen smiles. "Your turn to be the good child?"

"It's not often I get the chance," Morgana jokes back, ignoring the way her stomach clenches.

To her surprise, Gwen doesn't find another roommate, just gets a tiny little single above a store that Morgana spends too much time in. When Merlin and Arthur finish school and return to London as well, it feels like their childhood all over again, though a little rougher around the edges.

"You know, real life is a lot better than I thought it would be," Gwen remarks as they're walking back from an enjoyable but relatively tame night out. "More fun, I mean."

"Are you sure this is real life?" Morgana says, laughing, and linking her arm through Gwen's because she can.

"Of course it is," Arthur scoffs from behind them. "What else would it be?"

Morgana just smiles and feels glad she and Gwen are ahead so that she doesn't have to meet Merlin's eyes.

But the point is that Morgana's happy right _now_, as happy as she's ever been, knowing they're still in limbo but enjoying it for the time that it is, trying her hardest to live in the present instead of the past (future).

The fall, when it comes, is not what she had thought it would be.

*

It's never been clear to Morgana why her dreams don't come in any kind of chronological order – every since she can remember she's switched from being a child to a grown woman in the dreams, with blips and stutters in time that have no logical progression. Mostly they are in Camelot, though there have been a couple that faded from her mind as she awoke in which she could swear she was living elsewhere, alone. But none of that is certain, and Morgana never wonders why she hasn't dreamed about later times, hasn't felt the weight the middle age settle on her dream-self's skin. There's so much she's missing in the story of their past but she doesn't think about it – perhaps doesn't let herself.

That is only one of the millions of reasons why she is screaming when she wakes up from Camlann.

*

Arthur isn't home when Morgana barges into the flat he shares with Merlin, which is a relief because she doesn't think she can hold herself in any longer.

"I saw it. The final battle," she snarls at Merlin, who looks stunned and, oh god, all too aware of what she's talking about. "Why the hell didn't you _tell me?_"

"Morgana –"

"Uther, you could discuss, even Lancelot, but not us? Not_ me?_" She clenches her fists, breathing hard in her fury and anguish. "How _dare_ you keep something like that from me?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Merlin shoots back, his own anger rising up to flush his cheeks. " 'Oh, Morgana, just to let you know, there was this one time when you felt so betrayed by all of us that you led a rebellion against Camelot and brought about Arthur's death?' "

She saw this already, too vivid in her mind's eye, but it still feels like a physical blow to hear the words from Merlin's mouth.

"Do you know why?" she says, struggling to get the words out, because in her dreams she has no memories of her previous thoughts, feelings, motives. Only the battle itself and all its horrors.

Merlin is looking at her with a bleak expression on his face, anger fading into something more desperate and tragic. "I only know my side of it," he says, sounding exhausted. "I'm learning that it's not enough."

"And that's enough to make you trust me? Even when it comes to Arthur?"

Merlin hesitates, and she knows in that instant that it's _not_, that he's doubted her before, that he'll always carry this latent suspicion. "I –"

"Of course not," Morgana says, laughing harshly, a little manic. Her head is spinning, dizzy from the sudden implications of all of this. And perhaps she has always known, a little; has understood the loneliness, has feared the prospect of destiny beyond merely the epic romance of Arthur and Gwen because there are worse things. There are, apparently, things that could make her stop loving the people she cares about most enough to turn against them, and whether it was her fault or theirs back then, she is terrified of it.

"But you're not the same," Merlin insists, a little desperate. "_We're_ not the same people. And maybe if you know what's to come and know you won't do it again –"

"I don't regret it," Morgana says, cold.

Merlin stares at her. _"What?"_

Morgana hates him a little for that, and although it's justified the hatred rises up inside her like a poison, ugly and inevitable. "I don't even remember why I did it. I'm sure I was doing what I thought was right. So I know that I don't regret it, and that there must have been circumstances that brought me to do…what I did." She laughs again, bitter, shaking her head. "I don't regret it, but I still fear it. And you should as well."

She lets herself look at Merlin's open-mouthed alarm for one more moment before she turns away. As she's leaving she hears him calling after her, but it's too late by then, centuries too late.

*

She must look like a wreck because the first thing Gwen says when she opens her door is, "Morgana? What's wrong?" and Morgana can't, absolutely _can't_ let her get any further than that, so she steps in close and kisses her.

Gwen makes a shocked noise in the back of her throat, breathing in sharply. Morgana breaks away, searching for some kind of rejection or refusal in Gwen's eyes, some reason that will actually make Morgana stop, but all she sees is worry and concern and – love, tentative but hopeful, and it hurts so much to see that she can't bear to keep looking and instead, surges in to kiss Gwen again.

Gwen stumbles back this time, bringing a hand up to catch the side of Morgana's face in her palm, and almost despite herself Gwen kisses back. Morgana kicks the door shut behind them and pushes her up against the wall, fingers buried in Gwen's hair, moving to lick and suck at Gwen's neck but only briefly because she can't get enough of her mouth.

There's a tiny voice in the back of Morgana's mind that is saying this is stupid, this is bad, this is cruel to both of them. But a selfish streak rises up in her and she remembers that this is the only time she will ever have this, and that if she's going to take on this punishment she deserves to at least earn it and give herself last good thing.

Gwen must feel her brief hesitation because she pulls away one more time. _"Morgana,"_ says Gwen, breathless, her eyes dark and worried, "are you sure you're all right?"

And at that Morgana can't help but let the words flood out of her, as always, but they're not the words that Gwen is asking for. "Gwen, I need you, I love you, I always have, _please_ –"

And maybe Gwen still knows or suspects that something is wrong, but she shudders at the sound of Morgana's anguish, and then, perhaps she lets herself pretend.

She pulls Morgana into the bedroom and before long, the floor is strewn with their clothing and Gwen is straddling her waist, tendrils of hair sneaking out of her bun to frame her face as she gazes down at Morgana like she's the most wondrous thing she's ever seen. And Morgana herself can barely breathe at how beautiful Gwen is, as always, but tonight, only tonight, all that beauty is for Morgana.

It's everything Morgana has ever hoped for in her fantasies, and nothing that she's ever seen in her dreams.

And after it's over, after Morgana listens to Gwen fall asleep curled up against her, she feels whole for the first time in years – in her life, perhaps.

But though it breaks her heart all over again, she still has to leave.

*

After picking up some of her things and leaving a vague but insistent note for Uther, she leaves for King's Cross, using her phone only to call her job and quit before throwing it in the nearest trash bin. She's tempted to go to Cornwall, or Wales, to search for any physical or spatial remnants of what once was Camelot, but she guesses that's the first place Merlin will think to look. In the end, Scotland seems like an appropriate place to run away to in self-imposed exile.

She wonders where the other Morgana ran.

She takes up in a hostel in Glasgow until she can decide what to do next. But after a few days she has to move to a bed-and-breakfast with a single room because she's been dreaming too much. There must be some correlation between her state of being and the intensity of the dreams because for the first time she has the same dream twice, three times, four. Every night Camlann repeats and every night she is helpless to ignore it.

*

It's only a week later that Arthur finds her, but it feels as if it's been years.

He walks into the café where she's eating brunch and she's aware of his presence right away, so big and all-consuming even in the present without the title of prince and the aura of legend about him. It almost hurts to look at him, and Morgana blinks away quickly, though she's not foolish enough to think it'll keep him from coming to her.

Arthur sits down at her table and doesn't say anything, watching her with a calculating gaze, and at first Morgana is determined to keep quiet. But try as she might, she's never been able to dream about the present, so the question that has been torturing her since she left pops out before she can stop herself: "How is Gwen?"

"She's been crying her eyes out," Arthur says, almost matter-of-fact but for the quiet undercurrent of emotion in his voice. "Even my father has revealed he has feelings."

Morgana looks down at her hands in her lap, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Arthur is studying her, his eyes betraying nothing. She's expecting him to ask her why she left, but when he does open his mouth, he says, "Merlin told us, you know."

Morgana jerks her head up and stares at him._ "What?"_

"That's how I found you," Arthur continues blithely. "It was Merlin, really – I think he was happy he got to show off his, uh, _powers_ or whatever, so he used them to discover where you were. Plus it did a quick job of convincing me and Gwen that he was telling the truth."

"He obviously didn't tell you everything," Morgana says, bitter. Because there is no way that Arthur can be sitting here this calmly, looking at her as if she's the same person he grew up with, not even a modicum of fear or mistrust in his eyes, if he really knew.

"You mean the part about how you think you're responsible for bringing about my death and the fall of my kingdom in a past life?"

He's trying to make it sound like an absurdity, to distract her or try and tell her it doesn't matter, but Morgana stands firm. "I don't regret it," she says defiantly, just as she had to Merlin.

Arthur shakes his head. "Of course you don't. How could you? You can't regret something you never did."

And that – the force of his faith in her, his absolute certainty, hits her full-force, and she's struggling to get some kind of grip on the situation. "I did," she insists. "I did, and I was proud of it. I was doing the right thing. And if that's true – which it is – how can you know I won't do it again?"

Arthur sighs. "Look, Morgana. I can't pass any kind of judgment on what happened then, on either of us. I don't remember a damn thing myself so the only perspective I have on it is Merlin's, and he's terrible at explaining things properly."

_"Arthur –"_

"And it must be horrible, being able to see memories of such terrible times – I can't imagine." He looks at her steadily. "But none of that changes who you are now. Maybe the Arthur back then was wrong or maybe the Morgana was, or maybe it was both of them, but we aren't them. We've had our own pasts, and that's all we can use to keep on going." He gives a wry smile. "What would be the bloody point of reincarnation if it didn't give us a fresh start and a chance to do things differently?"

Morgana thinks of the past and the present, the differences between her dreams and reality. She thinks of Arthur, and Gwen and Merlin, and of Uther, and realizes suddenly that she cannot see the man she considers her father as the ruthless, half-mad dictator of the past. Because maybe he is the same man, but not entirely. And although the path of his life has taken hauntingly similar turns, the tiny, subtle differences of context that have shaped his decisions are everything. He is not the same.

And neither is she.

"Also," Arthur says suddenly, as if something's just occurred to him. "Merlin tells me you've somehow got it into your head that Gwen and I are destined to be together?"

Morgana startles, mouth gone dry.

"Of all the things that would convince me that our lives are meant to be different this time around, that's got to be the best," says Arthur, raising his eyebrows at her. "I adore Gwen, you know I do, but she's like another sister to me. And I'm pretty sure she feels the same." He makes a face. "Besides, I don't think I could ever marry someone who used to help you dress me up in your old frocks when I was five, it's just too scarring."

Arthur stands then, holding out his hand expectantly, and so much of Morgana is still too frightened, too secure in the idea of keeping the world out so that the past can't get in. But she looks at Arthur's face, and thinks of Gwen, and even Uther and Merlin, and knows that after some time it would be too unbearable to let her fear make her live without them.

She takes Arthur's hand, and he pulls her into a hug, squeezing her so tightly that she knows he's been scared as well. Terrified, even.

But not for the reasons she'd thought.

Arthur's gentlemanly streak somehow continues far enough to make him pointedly pretend not to notice when Morgana wipes her eyes, which actually irritates her the tiniest bit – but in a good way, the way that Arthur always does. It's that irritation, and a growing realization that things might just be okay between them, that makes her say, "Admit it: you missed me."

"Yeah, yeah, don't get all full of yourself," Arthur grumbles, and takes her home.

*

Merlin's white and drawn when he opens the door, but his expression falls instantly into relief when he sees both Morgana and Arthur. He lets them in and gives Morgana a hug as well, wiry arms wrapped comfortingly around her. "I'm so sorry," he says, heartfelt. "I think I'm the one making the same mistakes all over again. I shouldn't have let you go. I've just been so confused –"

"I think we both have," Morgana says, smiling a little shakily. "Let's go back to being confused together, yeah?"

Merlin just grins and kisses her cheek. "Yeah."

Arthur clears his throat. "Alright, alright, Merlin, stop bothering Morgana," he says, grabbing Merlin's elbow and pulling him away, the gesture so familiar that it makes something warm up inside Morgana – because it's familiar in _this_ life, the life she's living, not in a dream. And that's what matters.

She almost bursts out laughing at that, from relief and happiness – until she realizes that the reason Arthur and Merlin made such a speedy exit is because Gwen is here, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Morgana almost wants to just stand there and drink in the sight of her, not the Gwen she's seen ragged and bloody on a battlefield in her dreams but the Gwen she knows, has known all her life. There are a million things she could say at this moment – _should_ say – but the only thing, the only word that seems to make any kind of sense in any universe, past or present, is: _"Gwen."_

She stops, her throat closing up with emotion, but then Gwen is running towards her, flinging her arms around Morgana with such force that she almost falls backwards. They cling to each other, Morgana burying her face in Gwen's shoulder. Gwen whispers, "You are so, so _stupid_," and that's all it takes for Morgana to spill out the words, "I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," into the curve of Gwen's neck, because ever since their first meeting Gwen has had a way of coaxing out the words that Morgana didn't even know she wanted to say.

She pulls back to look at Gwen's face again, and then Gwen kisses her and it's perfect, holding Gwen in her arms and feeling Gwen's mouth on hers, it's perfect, and this time it's here to stay.

"_Sorry_, we're not interrupting anything, are we?" Arthur's voice calls out, and Morgana swears she can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Oh my god, I will actually kill you," she says without thinking, then realizes and lets go of Gwen to stare at Arthur. "Um. I mean –"

"Oh please don't tell me you're going to stop making your daily death threats now," says Arthur, "because then I'd have to be all chivalrous and stop doing it to you too, and that would take all the fun out of my day."

"Chivalrous? You?" Morgana says, raising her eyebrows.

"Hey, you're speaking to the former _king_ of _Camelot_," says Arthur, imperious. "I probably invented chivalry."

"He's going to be using the king thing against us forever, isn't he," Merlin says with a sigh.

Morgana laughs and turns back to take Gwen in her arms once more, resting their foreheads together and breathing in the feel of her, warm and close and _hers_. "Yeah," she says softly, feeling herself smile helplessly. "I don't need to see the future to know that."


End file.
